


Think the dusk is worth it

by CloveeD



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 100 inspired, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Failboats In Love, Full Shift Werewolves, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Steter Week, Survival, enough reason to post on its own, hey hey hey, not really with the steter week prompts but, oh mentions knotting, the 100 inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloveeD/pseuds/CloveeD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you trying to make me stay?" Stiles cut the frantic man off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think the dusk is worth it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heroesareoverwith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heroesareoverwith/gifts).



> For [thebooklegger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thebooklegger/pseuds/thebooklegger) for our nightly screamage of all the AUs. Big thanks to [Emilychan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilychan/pseuds/Emilychan) because I whined long and hard about not being able to come up with a sweeter ending and SHE WROTE LINES FOR ME TO GO OFF OF. 
> 
> Derek here is more S1 Derek. 100 inspired, but really just post-apocalyptic. Also, it's Steter Week. Unbeta'd.

 

Rain water was gathering along the creased rim of Stiles' rain gear, an ugly muted red the color of days old blood stain. Which, sometimes was true. Sometimes they made it rain blood, and sometimes this savage planet bawled over them.

Stiles'd been patient - four days of tracking in the woods, silent (yeah, it was a feat) and mud-laden in the pouring rain, watching the movements of the new camp that'd breached their territory. There had been a number of debates over how to deal with this breach - obviously Scott and Derek would butt heads on the 'just kill them', knee-jerking response, while Peter, who seemed to enjoy grooming his nephew for a lifetime of confusion, just sat back and watched in amusement as Derek fought for something Peter never really even thought about.

\---So Peter really was a questionable leader, if you wanted to look at him with hope for moral guidance or for being taken care of. He might treat you as a sometimes annoying, other times mildly amusing rodent at his best. But when it came to survival, Peter had been the obvious choice. Nobody understood the crux of surviving against the odds like Peter. Whereas if they were looking for a leader to inspire the Superman underwear out of your pants in a time and place that suited teenaged experimentation, Scott might've done better. Here? In this place where everything was evolving to better kill every one of them?

Peter was the only choice.

(Derek - no. They already had Derek under suicide-watch twice. He'd been a constant headache for everyone that cared - not because he wasn't physically capable, but because Derek wasn't emotionally stable after two betrayals in a row in finding someone to be with in his life. This was not a planet for emotional well-being, really. This was time for survival, and survival only.)

\---Which made that odd tension between Peter and Stiles ironic, because Stiles'd just concluded that this planet was anything but a place for romance. He supposed desperate times made the body desperate with want (for comfort, for a sense of security, for affirmation of reasons to live), but even then Stiles had to berate his own body - what an idiot! Only an idiot like Stiles would allow his own eyes to sometimes linger on Peter's soft eyelashes and the subtle curve of his mouth when Peter found something particularly amusing.

 

(Peter was beautiful.)

 

The only explanations Stiles had ever came up with had been that Peter was a monster wrapped up in some fucking pretty skin. Stiles had eyes, he was allowed to admire from afar. Peter rolled his pretty eyes to the side, looking bored. Stiles had to be the one to break up the headbutting session between Scott and Derek, and suggest that they spread out and scout the new group first. If the group had come without an actual agenda, they might actually be able to go along with Scott's suggestion this time - even though the likeliness of that possibility was clearly dwindling.

This new group was an aggressive one - even just to each other. Perhaps they'd not been together long, or had banded together for some common survival purpose instead of any actual relationship. They'd already disposed of one of their own members, hanging her in pieces on a pole a hundred miles outside their camp as -- Stiles would guess that this was their signal that they were here to kill and reign. Making her an example of the results of their presence. It wasn't uncommon - most groups nowadays were desperate survivors like these, doing anything necessary to try to stay ahead of a world out to get you with its every last little tendrils and critters.

Stiles quietly pulled his boot out of the deep mud he'd been standing in for a while, and up behind him came a heavy body-tackle, ramming Stiles face-down into the mud with a muted cry. (Stiles had never been so thankful for all survivors' habit of covering their faces these days, because a loud enough grunt could've woken the whole camp.) He was seeing stars, though, from how heavily that tackle had knocked him. The assailant's arm squeezed around Stiles' ribs, other hand reaching up for Stiles' throat. Stiles rammed an elbow dizzily up at the scout's throat, a few more blind elbow jabs until he felt the scout's arms finally let up to guard the throat. It was an opening nonetheless - Stiles twisted out from beneath the heavy body, managing it halfway before the heavy gloved hand was back grasping at Stiles' leg.

But it was a wide enough gap, and Stiles twisted around facing the scout to kick his head or throat, where ever the gear was the least heavy. Stiles reached for his bat, and the scout reached for what looked like a flair gun. There was a deep rumble, like the thunderstorm had drawn near, and lightning flashed.

 

Peter---this one was Peter, the dark brunette wolf of thick pelt that'd just slammed past Stiles' legs and closed teeth around the new scout's throat.

Stiles sat up, bleary vision in the rain as he squinted at Peter. Peter twisted back to watch Stiles, dark thin blood dribbling down Peter's snout. Peter's tongue slipped over the rim of his jaw briefly, catching droplets of blood that was still warm. Did Scott finally let up on the non-killing policy? Stiles wanted to ask. Did Scott find the dead, hung pieces of that woman at the edge of the new camp as well? Did Peter finally got bored of waiting for Scott and Derek to headbutt to an equilibrium, and decided to take matters into his own hands? Stiles glanced around - he could hear, once he made a focused attempt, other wolves looping their way into the new camp, familiar sounds of paws hitting water and, eventually, roars.

Shots rang, and Peter was gone. Stiles joined, because at this point it was the best thing to do. His bat washed away easily enough in the rain, red dripping to the ground with the mildly toxic water. His rain gear stains did not wash away.

 

By the time Stiles dragged his bruised side and himself back to their own base camp, he could already hear Scott's frantic arguing. "You didn't have to kill the women too! They might've been---"

"They attacked me--" Derek's familiar defensive growling.

"Just because your last two girl---" Oh no, Scott, you bonehead, Stiles despaired, hurrying to reach for the tent flap, only to be stopped by both the sound of punching, breaking Scott's argument mid-sentence, and Peter appearing behind Stiles, dragging Stiles back by the back collar. "Let them at it. They'll heal. You--" Peter steered Stiles toward Deaton's tent, which was supposedly empty for the next two days while Deaton went off to trade for supplies with Kira and Allison. "Need to look at that rib."

Stiles glanced down at his side. He didn't think it was fractured, just going to bruise like a motherfucker. And then he squinted back suspiciously at Peter. "Did you just shower?" Peter had changed, somehow, into cleaner clothes, hair brushed back like he hadn't just ripped out about six people's throats with his teeth.

Peter looked smug, but lacked any satisfying answers as per usual. They made it into Deaton's tent, and Stiles automatically started dropping his gear piece by piece. Peter picked up after him. "You're quite the slob." Peter commented, amusing Stiles out of his post-battle stupor. "Yeah, because for some reason, I have a mom picking my shit up for me." He sneered at Peter behind him, and had a few more seconds of freedom until Stiles felt the familiar weight of a breathy werewolf gently pressing up behind him, personal space and cleanness be damned. Stiles grinned.

 

~

Stiles didn't call Peter mom in bed, at least.

He was too busy gripping the railing of Deaton's bunk and bracing against Peter's wet thrusts filling Stiles from behind. Peter's arm curled around Stiles' waist, holding Stiles' weight up against the heat of Peter's chest and held Stiles in place, hardly pulling out completely before thrusting back in. Stiles was a hot vice around Peter's cock, and Stiles could take it, take everything that Peter dished out.

Peter's breath was hot, musky and making a mess of Stiles' neck, leaving mark upon mark with his blunt, human teeth points. No one hardly ever wore revealing things anymore, with the toxic rain nowadays, and neither was Peter and Stiles fucking really a secret - so Stiles never had to care about being marked. If the others knew, they never said anything about it. It was impossible not to smell Peter's scent drenching Stiles completely like this, Peter's entire person draped over Stiles' back, rutting into Stiles' ass in harsh little grunts.

Stiles wasn't certain if this was a comfort thing, or an adrenaline thing - it might be, either one or both. They seemed to do this almost routinely after battles, went at each other in the angriest manner, and then once spent, rolled away from each other to move onto the next task of the day, unperturbed.

That wasn't completely true. They were - something, afterward. The unspoken rule here had been to be unperturbed, but Peter was never really a cold fuck in bed. Peter was a firestorm, sometimes more wolf than man when they did this - which was ironic, because the wolf in Peter was probably more healthy than the man himself. And the wolf - Stiles had felt it before. The wolf loved Stiles. The man possibly had nothing left unbroken enough to love with.

"I could knot you." Peter decided to hiss into Stiles' ear tonight, like a threat, "I could knot you, and keep my seed in you instead of letting it run free down your thighs like a _used bi_ \---"

 

"Are you trying to make me stay?" Stiles cut the frantic man off.

There was a tense pause, Peter's cock still hot and unspent in Stiles like an awkward spoon lifted halfway to the mouth.

 

"I didn't say that."  
"Oh. So you were just going to knot me and kick me out after calling me a used bitch?"  
"I wasn't going to kick you out after that."  
"So you _do_ want me to stay."

Peter tried to thrust again, grunting unhappily at being interrupted by a conversation about things of significance. "You go to Scott afterwards, always. You clean up the messes he and Derek make." He opted to observe aloud instead, making Stiles frown. "You almost cracked your rib today, and I want to knot you."

"You just can't say it can you?" Stiles was starting to find this amusing. Peter the man was finally catching up on the courting the wolf had been doing since long.  
"Sure I can."  
Snort, "Really?"  
"Stiles--"  
"Oh wait, fuck--" Both of their groans cut that sentence off. Peter's knot was swelling up. The attempts at conversation were a little stilted after that ("You can't always let your dick do the speaking, you know." "It's not a mouthful enough for you?" "Oh my god Peter--")

 

~

They never have the conversation properly, but Stiles stayed after that. He stayed and started to drift off, thoughts of Scott and Derek going at each other blurring up in the back of his mind.  
Stiles wasn’t sure how long it took, but one of these days, Peter moved, nose burying itself in Stiles' neck, and muttered something.

“Mmrrhw?” Stiles groaned.

“Stay. With me.”

Stiles smiled. They did finish that conversation after all. He dropped back down against Peter’s chest.

Alright then.

 


End file.
